ProDigy: The Drifting Dime Debuts
by ApathyFades
Summary: Street racing team, Forest Angle R, has begun its first practice runs of the season on Bristol Pass. However, they encounter an extremely skilled newcomer driving a strange 70's era import who completely outmanuevers them.
1. Forest Angle Rendezvous

**INTRO**

Street racing team, Forest Angle R, has begun its first practice runs of the season on Bristol Pass. However, they encounter an extremely skilled newcomer driving a strange 70's era import who completely outmaneuvers them.

1. Forest Angle Rendezvous

The locals call it Bristol Notch Pass. A small series of hairpin corners on VT-17 weaving through the Stark Mountain range dividing Washington and Chittenden counties in the state of Vermont, USA. The only public road of its kind in all of New England, it's a rarely known gem for driving enthusiasts. Most days and nights, there is generally little traffic through this beautiful yet dangerous pass, but this Saturday night in early May, the pristine darkness will soon awaken. From the overlook parking lot across from the tall radio tower at the Peak of Stark Mountain, the stars above barely illuminate the landscape. The surrounding cliffs stand like sentinels in the darkness, overlooking the serene lake beneath the pass. The air is crisp, clear and silent, absent of the normal sound of rustling leaves and activities of creatures. This early in May, Vermont is still very cool.

Then, suddenly a pair or combating screeching rubber sounds start echoing in the distance, gradually getting louder and closer. The howling notes of two exhausts complement and report the screeches. Soon, a pair of headlights reveals a straightaway below the parking lot in the distance. The engine exhausts amplify and a white sports car is revealed as the source of these headlights, rocketing up the straightaway. Then, the second car's headlights whip around the corner before the straightaway, revealing that it's a smaller, older, and boxier black sports car. Instantly, the leading car's brake lights illuminate the trees around it in crimson red as it takes the sharp 90-degree corner at the end of the straightaway. The chasing car closes in as the leading car slows and the two cars disappear one behind the other.

There are then much louder screeching sounds as the vehicles maneuver through a hidden twisty road course, out of view from the parking lot. Suddenly, the leading white larger sports car appears on the bottom of the final and incredibly steep stretch before the parking lot and starts rocketing up. Right behind the leading car is the chaser, desperately howling to keep up. Then, suddenly the leading car's rear tires lock for a split second, and starts to slide sideways, as it's nose whips towards the parking lot. As it continues to slide sideways, the speed rapidly burns off and eventually stops on the crest of the hill. Right behind it, the black chasing car mimics the exact same motions, gliding and stopping much earlier than the heavier white car. With their noses both pointed to the parking lot, they roll ahead and parked next to the overlook. The hot idling engines shut down and two young men step out of their respective cockpits.

"Damn, what's wrong, bro? You can't keep up with me anymore!" said the young pilot of the white car. He's wearing a dark red collared shirt over a plain white t-shirt. His baggy tan khakis are leaning against the angular aggressive white sheet metal of his car.

"Dunno, man. Ever since I installed that new clutch and flywheel, my S13's had a tougher time keeping up on the hill climb," replied the other driver, a young man with blonde spiky hair. He was wearing a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt with a logo displaying the name NISMO in bright white letters, with only the O in bright red.

"Shit, man, what the hell did you do? You sure you didn't have any spare parts after installing your new shit?"

"Of course I installed it right, dumbass! My engine revs so much better now, but for some reason, it gets dogged a lot easier too. It's a tradeoff, I guess."

"It's alright. By the end of summer, I'll be so far ahead, that you won't even see my taillights," proclaimed the driver of the white car, which bore the name 300ZX on the center of its tail cluster.

"Go right on ahead, bro. Cause on the downhill, you'll never catch me neither," replied the driver of the older black car, which wore white badge on the center of the black trunk bearing the name Silvia.

"Touché. As it stands now, we're both undefeated in your specialty runs on this mountain. Ha! We're the Kings of Stark Mountain!"

"Of course, we have such lame competition. I'd like to prove that I'm the best on this downhill run. You're just so easy to outrun, how am I supposed to get any better?"

"Pfft, just watch, by the end of fall, I'll be the fastest on the team, both ways. But, yeah, I know what you're saying. The scene out here sucks. We need to move Forest Angle R out of Vermont and go out West where the real touge is."

"I know what you're saying, dude. How can we get any better going against high school ricers and muscle-headed rednecks? As far as owning me, you first gotta get your girlfriend's ass out of that passenger seat when you actually do battle. Once you put your attention on the road, you drive a lot better. Besides, you'll weigh less, considering the portliness of your Z32 already."

"The hell, man? You calling both my girls fat? At least someone appreciates my mad technique! Only ones who appreciate yours are the posers that race us." In disgust, Mr. 300ZX glances down at his watch, which reads 10:05 PM._ "_He's already five minutes late. Fucking posers. Speaking of posers, thanks for not bringing your little brother."

"Dude, take that back! I was just like him when I was his age! Only reason why he's not here tonight is because no one was home. Both he and Mom are gone. I think they were finally looking at a car for him."

"Yeah he's gotta hold Mommy's hand so he can go find some rear drive drift car and race up here with us. Little dork. He should be learning how to drive, first. He's gonna end up killing himself," heckled Mr. 300ZX.

"Jesus, you're condescending. But I can see why Mom's overseeing all of this. Get this, she wants him to drive up front so he doesn't try to catch up to us and crash. Bless her heart for letting him do this, but I agree with you. He needs to learn basics first."

"Either way, I don't look forward to waiting around for his slow ass." He glanced down at his watch again and read 10:07 PM._ "_What the hell's up with this guy? I've been itching for a hill climb battle tonight, but I'm thinking of racing you back down instead. If he hasn't shown up by now, I don't think he'll be coming."

"I think you spooked him when you issued your challenge like a deranged asshole."

"I think he really pissed his pants when I lit up the tires pulling outta there."

"It was pretty funny seeing his face as you smoked out of there. But, c'mon, Pete! Your challengers almost never show up. You always egg them on too much and they thing you're some kind of psycho! Sometimes you just gotta chill and respect the other driver to show up, not anger him till he writes you off as some dick," contemplated the NISMO kid.

"Whatever. It's my style. If the challenger pussies out, he's not worth my time," replied the 300ZX kid, Pete.

NISMO boy opens up the driver door to his black Silvia and looks towards Pete with a smirk on his lip.

"Last one down is a spoiled rich trust fund baby!"

"More like last one down is driving a slow ass Ford Taurus!" egged on Pete.

"Ouch! I know my S13 resembles that old piece of shit car, but man, that friggen hurts! Them is fightin' words!" Yelled back NISMO boy.

Both drivers quickly jump in their respective vehicles and slam their doors, awakening their modified exhaust pipes. Then the double clunk of changing gears initiates both sets of rear wheels to chirp backwards, zipping the cars back towards the crest of the hill. They both straighten out, clunking again into forward first gear. Pete glanced over to NISMO boy and starts to rev up his V6 twin turbo with a surging growl. The Silvia next to him responds by revving up its JDM 2 liter turbo engine. The 300ZX bolts off first, squealing its fat rear tires for seven feet. As soon as he sees Pete's front bumper lift off the ground, NISMO boy drops the clutch and mashes the accelerator to the floor.

©2005, Marc Gabriel Palardy, All Rights Reserved


	2. A Mysterious Newcomer

2. A Mysterious Newcomer

Both cars rocket down the steep slope, with the S13 just a nose behind the 300ZX. Because of the new flywheel that the driver complained about not much earlier, he was much faster on the downhill than on the hill climb. The drivers meander through the sharp winding road, and then come up to a 90-degree corner before the longest pure straightaway on the course. Inside the 300ZX, Pete shifts down to second gear and slams the breaks, shifting his heavy load to his front wheels. However, he was too eager on the brakes.

"Shit! My front tires!" shouted Pete, while his steering wheel was violently shaking, resisting the tires grip. Instantly, he noticed the nose of his Z32 glide right, towards the outside lane.

"The downhill always opens up a driver's weaknesses," the S13 driver explains to himself from inside his cockpit. He takes the initiative and skillfully performed surgery on the road, cutting the corner like a scalpel. Pete's eyes open with awe as he sees the downhill master armed with a new modification. His irises reflect the taillights of the S13 as it pulls ahead with fluid speed.

"Holy shit, he's fast! He's passing me in the first corner! I need to catch up before he loses me!" Pete yells as he realizes that he's got to use his big horsepower advantage on the straightaway. He sinks the petal to the floor and pushes his body into the back of his bucket seat while the car lifts and rockets forward. About three quarters down the straight, he's closing on both 90 miles an hour and a very sharp corner ahead. He noticed a glimmer of headlights in his rear view mirror. He then slams the brake petal to the floor, feeling the machine gun pulsation of his Antilock Braking System. His friend's S13 is drifting incredibly fast around the tight hairpin in front of him and tries with all his might to mimic the same speed with his much larger Z32. Suddenly, his eyes are blinded by the high beams of the car closing in incredibly fast behind him.

"Who the hell is that?" He shouts ponderously while squinting to make out two pairs of circular headlights. "An old Volkswagen? An old Bimmer? What the hell could be so fast?" He then realizes that he's closing I on the hairpin at mach speed!

"Shit! I missed my turn in point!" He desperately turns in his steering wheel, which fights him for the entire corner. In a desperate attempt to turn sharper, he stabs the accelerator to break his rear tires loose. Again, his nose starts gliding to the outside of the curve, only this time, he rotating towards the inside. Then his jaw dropped as the car chasing him like a ghost is perfectly drifting in front of him, on the inside lane, almost taking his front bumper with it.

"Rear wheel drive. It's gotta be a Bimmer! That guy's as fast as Lex!" proclaims Pete as the mysterious phantom car takes on the middle position. Then, he experiences a maneuver not even his friend, Lex, has accomplished in his S13. Still banking right on the sharp corner, the car counter steers and snaps left and rotates counter clockwise into a counter drift in the next left corner. Pete tries to keep up to witness this incredible maneuver but struggles to keep on the road as his attention is on the two cars ahead.

"Who the hell does this guy think he is? Does he think he can just sneak up on me and pass me like that? This is our mountain, not yours! Come on, Lex! Don't let that sneaky Eurotrash pass you! Outrun this jerk for the honor of Forest Angle R!"

At the front of the pack, Lex is smiling, as he knows that his last modification made a vast difference on the downhill. Not only is his engine much more responsive, but he could accurately place his RPMs while he's drifting around the corner. He then looks up to see how far behind Pete is and to his surprise, there are unfamiliar headlights in his rear view.

"What's this?" he ponders as the two pairs of round headlights become incredibly bright in just a few seconds.

"He's right on my ass! That's definitely not Pete's Z32! Sheesh, this guy's fast! Too bad he's behind me, cause I'd like to see the technique he used to catch up to me this quickly! Maybe Pete can tell me later. Don't loose your cool, bro. I won't let him pass"

As Lex navigates through the meandering bi-section, he ponders over the new chaser, while subconsciously preparing for the next sharp right hairpin curve. He takes the left lane, which is the outside position; because he knows that he needs to grip through the first hairpin to have enough momentum to drift around the next switchback. As he brakes, he starts steering in, floating the steering wheel to a perfectly controlled oversteer. He then cuts to the apex of the corner like a skilled surgeon, yet again. He notices something disturbing. The guardrail reflectors are searingly bright beside him, yet he sees no headlights behind him.

"Is he drifting through the corner? Doesn't he know this course? There's a sudden switch back right in front of me. By the time he straightens out, he's gonna be into the next corner's outer guardrail!" Lex then takes his right foot on the accelerator, taps the brake, and then switches back to the accelerator, controlling its depth variably. He starts drifting toward his left, only to see the strange, short, blue, and slightly trapezoidal shaped nose of the mysterious car peek in on his inside left!

"What the? How the hell did he switch directions so quickly! The only way he could fit in there is if he's still drifting! Incredible!" wowed Lex while he's at his car's cornering limit. The mystery car is rushing in so quickly; Lex has to lift his foot off the accelerator to avoid the other car from colliding!

"Holy shit! I've never seen anyone corner that fast! What kind of car is that? What kind of driver is that?" The strange car passes Lex's S13 cleanly on the inside and snaps into the opposite direction again.

"He's still drifting? The next hairpin is still three hundred feet away!" The car makes a large parabolic drift and tightened up it's line right past the apex of the corner, while the S13 takes a more technical approach and cut in later while griping. As Lex clears the corner at what he considers a fast and safe speed, he sees that the car ahead is still drifting and snaps back around for the fourth and final switchback hairpin. Mind boggled, the only thing Lex can do is drop his jaw as he witnesses the truest, fastest and most suicidal line through the pass' dangerous unyielding technical section. Soon, the car disappears around the bend as Lex decides to let him go and finish the course ahead of him. He realized that a true competitor outmaneuvered him on his home turf. He takes his foot off the accelerator and presses the caution light switch, signaling to Pete behind him that he had given up.

©2005, Marc Gabriel Palardy, All Rights Reserved


	3. First Blood

3. First Blood

"He got passed? That sneaky piece of shit! That's it! Time to use my monster horsepower to catch up now that I'm on the bottom of the mountain. I gotta beat him to the stop sign ahead!" realizes Pete as he passes Lex's sidelined S13. He quickly redlines his engine and pulls ahead on the straightaway, rocketing ahead past the finish line, without the strange car in sight.

"He's gone this far already? What kind of monster is this Eurotrash?" The trees blur by in the peripheral illumination of his HID headlights. He takes on the moderate curves, cutting through the apexes. Pete's body hugs the lateral bucket seat support. Finally, at nearly 100 miles per hour and a mile down the road, he finds a pair of familiar taillights.

"There he is," smiled Pete as he stepped up the pace of his fast Z32. Soon, the taillights become closer and closer.

"Jeez, you're not that fast. It's time to pull over now, bitch!" He honks his horn and flicks his light beams, motioning the strange car to pull over. It then speeds up, ignoring Pete's angry request.

"That little bitch! Get the hell back here, Eurotrash!" yelled Pete as he downshifts and guns his car forward.

"You wanna play this the hard way? Fine! You won't be able to get past the intersection ahead if I'm in front of you!" The Z32 then pulled into the left lane and rocketed ahead as if the strange car was standing still. Almost immediately, Pete could see the familiar two pairs of circular headlights in his rear view.

"I'm almost there, now. There it is!" Seeing the glowing red sign in the distance, Pete jerks his parking brake for a quick second, initiating a high-speed slide, much like the one he performed at the top of the mountain. He stops about thirty feet from the stop sign, perpendicular to the road.

"Now, you can't avoid me, you little Eurotrash bitch," Pete mumbled to himself. Quickly, the oncoming headlights of the strange car illuminate the white paint of his Z32 300ZX. It then makes a chirp, chirp, chirp sound as it slows down and stops from a 60 mph cruise. Pete immediately steps out and marches over with intimidation to the mystery car. He takes his fist and pounds on the driver's side window, peeking inside to see a silhouette of the driver.

"Hey, Eurotrash! Can you hear me, you little bitch? You think that you can just sneak up like that and pass us like that? There is no way that this little shitty Bimmer is faster than my Z32 or Lex's S13! This is our mountain and if you race us, you play by our rules! You don't sneak up on us and consider it a legitimate race! Either you race me on the downhill again starting at the peak next Saturday night at 10 pm, or next time I see you here, I'm pushing you right through the guardrail and toss that Eurotrash Bimmer right over the goddamn cliff! Got that, little bitch? Hey! You fucking hear me?" shouts Pete at the driver, egging him on for another competition. The mystery car then revs up and clunks into reverse. It then rockets backwards and snaps a 180- degree spin and skillfully takes of in the opposite direction.

"Don't you run away from me!" yells Pete running after the car. Just as soon as the taillights of the mystery car disappear behind the bend, Pete sees some familiar headlights come around and illuminate his face. "The S13," He muttered.

"What the shit was that, bro?" asked Lex, as he pulls up by Pete.

"Damned if I know. He's a rude little shit though. Never even showed his face when I challenged him."

"You challenged that guy? He passed you like nothing back there! You don't even come close to skill like that! Jesus, Pete you let your anger get way out of control! You should have never challenged someone like that! He's way out of our league! He probably some old pro driving his old rally car through here late at night. Picked us off like a couple of posers!" scolds Lex, trying to talk sense into Pete. But it's like talking to a brick wall when he's pissed.

"Whatever. I'll be waiting next weekend. He'll come. I know it."

©2005, Marc Gabriel Palardy, All Rights Reserved


	4. Old Tears, New Fears

4. Old Tears, New Fears

Thunder rumbles through the drudgingly gray clouds as the constant soaking rain beats down on the oak casket. Six men in black carry the casket in a precession of dripping rainwater and flowing tears. Following immediately behind, are two people; a tan skinned young man with sopping wet thick black hair and smaller, frailer middle-aged woman. The woman's slightly wrinkled face was veiled with black, hiding her apparent sobs. The young man walked on steadily with the woman carrying a painful somber on his face. His tears blended into the cascading rain down his tan cheeks. The pallbearers reached their destination under a makeshift white tent and placed the heavy casket onto the straps above the freshly dug grave. Then five U.S. servicemen carried an American flag over to the casket and covered the beautiful soaked wood with the colors of honor. The young man took the lady's and placed it on the casket along with his own. The five service men marched into formation and one of the stated "Godspeed to our brother in arms, Major Carlos Delado. We, the United States Navy salute you. Ready! Aim! Fire!"

The young man flinched at the first crack of the five-rifle salute. Tears began flowing down his face while it cringed in somber pain. "Dad," he whimpered through his rasped pain and tears. "DAD!"

A sudden gasp of air. Gone are the soaking rain and gray clouds. Gone is the funeral precession. However, the tears, pain and sadness remain. The young man opened his eyelids to reveal bloodshot and irritated windows to his soul. They began to well up as he realizes that he's remembering the most significant point of his life up until now. He stares through his blurry tears at the stark off-white walls of his bedroom. The sun is pouring in with hues of pink and orange. He glances over to his alarm clock. 6:45 am. Rubbing his eyes, he crawls out of his messy sheets and sits at the side of his bed; his hair is a mess of thick blackness consuming most of his head. He grabs the green bathrobe draped over the bedpost and stands up. Wrapping it over his tan skinny half naked body, he opens the door and walks towards the bathroom. He sees an older woman leave the bathroom in a pink nightgown.

"What's wrong, Mom? Can't sleep?" asked the tall, dark, and bloodshot young man. She looks up at him with matching bloodshot eyes and tears welled underneath her wrinkles eyelids.

"Its Dad, isn't it," whimpered the teenager walking closer towards his mother. She replied with a slight nod and wrapping her arms around her son. They both cradled each other and sobbed in each other's arms.

"I just can't get over the pain, Ricky," sobbed his mother.

"It's been six months and nothing feels any better, Mom," replied Ricky. "I just miss him so much. Why did he have to go so quickly? Why?"

"I know what you're saying. It seems like every day that goes by, you think you should be healing. But it hurts now as much as it did six months ago," sobbed Ricky's mother. "It's an awful thing, but every day, I pray for distractions to keep my mind off from him so I don't cry all day."

"Yeah but to keep the spirit of Dad alive, we can't forget him. Maybe it's a good thing that we cry every day. It shows that he'll never die," comforted Ricky. "As long as we both can remember him, he won't die." He then gave his mother a kiss on the forehead and entered the bathroom. "Please get some sleep mom. You have a lot of stress in your life as it is."

About half an hour later, Ricky was packing his books into his backpack, getting ready for school. He then grabbed his laptop computer and noticed that his cell phone was on his desk.

"Aiya-chan. Why didn't you answer my call last night?" he asked himself. A feeling of disappointment came over him as his shoulders dropped and he slowly exhaled. Suddenly, a horn honked from the driveway. "Who the hell could that be?" he wondered. Ricky darted through the hallways and through the front door. A white early-nineties style fastback coupe with pop-up headlights stood there, idling. Then, the driver's door window rolls down, revealing a familiar face.

"Ricky, mah man! What do you think? Isn't she a beaut?" asked the driver of the car, a teenaged boy with brown, messy hair.

"Benji? Is this yours? When did you get this?"

"Last weekend. I could barely contain myself all week cause I wanted to surprise you and everyone at school! I finally got my insurance and registration squared away yesterday."

"Wow, you really outdid yourself this time. It looks fast and sporty," commented Ricky as he was circling around the car looking at the white glossy body.

"Not to mention it's FR. Say, Ricky, wanna ride to school?"

"Hells yeah! I'd rather ride with you than on that shitty bike!"

"Well then hop in, bro!"

Ricky opened the passenger door and sat inside the sports car. The floor mats were obviously worn and old; the plastic dash was beginning to fade. Everything has the faux finish of Armor All.

"So how old is this thing? And what's FR?" inquired Ricky.

"It's a '93 Nissan 240SX Fastback, but we can call it the RMS13. FR means that its engine's in the front and its rear wheel drive," replied Benji.

"Cool. Why not just call it the 240SX, like it says on the rear?" asked Ricky. "I think it sounds cooler."

"Because, it's cooler to name a car by its chassis code. The code of this car is RMS13," answered Benji.

Puzzled, Ricky replied, "Whatever makes you happy, Benj."

Benji then dropped the shifter into reverse and popped the clutch without revving the engine. It promptly stalled.

"Dammit!" Benji complained. "This thing needs more power or something. First thing I'm doing is looking for an SR20DET."

Benji restarted the engine and tried again, but over-revved the engine this time. Both their necks snapped forward as the car leapt backwards.

"Sorry," Benji replied as he put the shifter into first. He released the clutch suddenly and skipped the car ahead, whip lashing their heads back and forth.

"You need help with that?" asked Ricky.

"Hey, this is my first time driving to school with a manual shift!" snapped back Benji.

©2005, Marc Gabriel Palardy, All Rights Reserved


End file.
